


Eamester 4 Life

by bauble



Series: Amuse-Bouche [7]
Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-23
Updated: 2017-08-23
Packaged: 2018-12-18 21:00:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,786
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11882739
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bauble/pseuds/bauble
Summary: Coda to Amuse-Bouche. Set about a year and a half into their relationship, before the Epilogue.





	Eamester 4 Life

They're in the middle of rehearsal at the dance studio when Eames catches sight of a familiar herringbone jacket out of the corner of his eye. A glance over his shoulder confirms Arthur's presence, tucked discreetly into the corner of the room. Arthur waves but makes no move to come closer. Eames, for his part, manages to wait until he finishes the dance routine to skip over, but only barely.

"I didn't know you were coming to visit," Eames says, near enough for Arthur to hear him over the music. He wants to lean in for a kiss, but it seems hardly professional (and he's being unprofessional enough already). He settles for hovering a touch too closely instead.

"I was in the area, so I thought I'd stop in to watch for a few minutes," Arthur says. The corners of his eyes crinkle delightfully.

"Yeah?" Eames cocks his head to one side. "How was I doing?"

Arthur's gaze trawls across Eames' body. "Looked pretty good from where I was standing."

Before Eames can reply, one of the dancers bellows from across the room, "Yo, Eames, are we taking a break so you can flirt with your boyfriend or what?"

The dancers all giggle while Eames narrows his eyes at shouter, which, naturally, has no effect whatsoever.

"You should get back to rehearsal," Arthur says, smiling good-naturedly. "My break's almost over anyway."

Eames starts to protest but is cut off by Arthur dragging him in for a kiss. It begins with relative politeness but quickly devolves, the studio and practice and everything else outside of Arthur disappearing. When Arthur pulls away, Eames blinks, somewhat stupefied, as the dancers hoot and whistle.

Arthur throws Eames a wink as he leaves. "I'll see you back at the hotel."

* * * * * *

Eames isn't sure what to expect when he arrives (candles? Nudity? Dinner?). What he receives is: Arthur fully dressed (still in his work clothes) in an armchair doing the crossword.

"Hi, baby," Arthur says, a smile lighting up his face as he sets aside the paper. "How was your day?"

Eames feels the disappointment immediately dissipate as leans down to give Arthur a brief kiss. "Rather excellent. And yours?"

"Ran into a few issues, but things are looking up now." Arthur squeezes Eames' hand. "I ordered room service. Truffle burger medium rare okay?"

"God, yes," Eames says as he pulls up a chair. "Now tell me all about these issues."

Room service arrives and they talk through dinner ("issues" apparently being Arthur's codeword for experiences Eames would characterize as "terrifying near-brushes with death.")

"He was unarmed and the situation, thankfully, didn't escalate," Arthur explains, matter-of-factly.

"Yes, well, so long as the angry lunatic chasing you down isn't armed, I suppose there's nothing to worry about." Eames places two fingers under Arthur's chin and tilts his face from side to side, inspecting for any damage he might have conveniently forgotten to mention.

"I'm okay," Arthur says, allowing Eames to examine to his satisfaction. "Really."

"I'm afraid I'm far more fragile than you are," Eames says, dropping his hand, fingers twisting into his napkin. "I don't know what I'd do if someone so much as gave you a papercut."

"Indulge my every whim until I was fully healed, I think," Arthur replies, deadpan.

"Obviously. Though I should warn you I'm a dreadful nursemaid. I'm as likely to scald you with a sponge bath as soothe."

"Guess I'll have to take my chances when the time comes," Arthur replies as he leans over to give Eames a kiss. It's sweet, with the promise of something distinctly less sweet in the near future. "I was thinking tonight maybe we could switch things up a little. Since we've got this hotel room and all."

"Yeah?" Eames says in between kisses, intrigued. "What'd you have in mind?"

"I was hoping to hear some of your ideas," Arthur murmurs, and Eames goes still.

It's absurd, really, that Eames should have such difficulty expressing in words what he'd like, especially in light of the innumerable lewd things he's said in interviews or onstage. And it's been over a year with Arthur, yet—

"It's okay," Arthur says, cupping Eames' ears warmly and giving him a kiss on the nose. "We don’t have to."

"I do want to," Eames says, feeling his cheeks begin to heat, on top of everything else. "It's simply—I've never done it before." 

Truth be told, Eames has never been particularly creative in the bedroom—he had a routine that worked and he stuck to it. Any sexual variety had been introduced by his partners, most of whom hadn't been shy about what they wanted. Eames could happily follow Arthur's lead forever, but Arthur wants—

"A strange man came by during rehearsal today," Eames blurts out, somewhat uncertain.

"A strange man, huh?" Arthur says, patient and curious. "What happened?"

"I noticed him in the middle of a dance," Eames says. "I approached to inquire about what his purpose for being there was and instead of answering properly, he took the most terrible liberties with me. In front of all the dancers, no less. It was positively scandalous."

"He sounds like a monster," Arthur says, face a handsome mask of complete seriousness. "Are you alright?"

"I was so distraught I could hardly focus on anything else for the entire rehearsal." Eames straddles Arthur's lap, confidence building. "What if he came back and made further demands upon my person?"

"I can see why you'd be concerned." Arthur runs his palms from Eames' hips up his sides. "What do you think he might want from you in the future?"

"I suppose he might want me to service him," Eames murmurs as Arthur's hands wander back to grip his arse firmly. "Massage his feet. Suck his cock. Eat him out."

"You'd better be prepared, then," Arthur says as he leans forward to finally, finally kiss Eames again. "In case he comes back."

"Practice does make perfect," Eames agrees in between thorough, open-mouthed kisses.

Eames slides off the chair, down Arthur's body, to discover him barefoot and freshly washed already. Eames presses a kiss to each of Arthur's ankles, touched, and resolves to make the foot-rub one Arthur will appreciate.

He starts with the heel of the right foot, kneading firmly as Arthur slowly grows more relaxed above him. He moves to the sensitive middle of the foot, careful not to tickle, and then the ball of the foot, over thick calluses that memorialize Arthur's dedication to others, to service. Eames finishes more gently on each individual toe, and looks up to see Arthur watching him, the look in his eyes almost unbearably tender.

"You should do the other one, too," Arthur says quietly, nudging Eames' shoulder with his heel. "For practice."

Eames can't help but turn his head to kiss the beautiful arch of Arthur's foot before taking it in his hands, massaging until Arthur is completely boneless in the chair.

By the time he's done with the massage, Eames is so hard he's probably smearing precome into his boxers already. He pushes such trivial concerns from his mind as he unzips Arthur's trousers and eases his cock out of his dark boxer briefs. Eames licks over the head delicately, purses his lips without taking it into his mouth, strokes a thumb along the base.

Eames can feel the tension in Arthur's thighs, knows that Arthur's gripping the chair arms. Eames reaches over to take one of Arthur's hands and guides it to the back of the head, hoping that Arthur trusts them both enough for this.

Arthur lets out a minute, shivery sigh before applying pressure, allowing Eames to open his mouth widely enough. Arthur goes slow and shallow at first, resists anything deeper until Eames begins doing it himself, holding the length of Arthur's cock inside him until his eyes begin to water.

"Eames," Arthur says softly, a reminder that Eames can stop this anytime he wants to. Eames tries to convey with the way he sucks down Arthur's dick greedily that he knows, he knows, and he wants to do this so badly.

At last, Arthur ceases holding back and begins to face-fuck Eames with deep, inescapable jerks. His grip is steel shoving Eames on his cock, relentless but arrhythmic, unpredictable. Sometimes he forces Eames to take him all the way down to the base and holds him there until he begins to choke, unable to breathe, and then he'll switch to giving Eames only the head of his cock, pulling him away before he can fully savor it.

Arthur works Eames up until he's a bloody mess, tears running down his cheeks while he grabs at his own dick clumsily, hard beyond belief. When Arthur finally pulls his hips away, Eames moves forward instinctively, trying to chase Arthur's cock. Arthur's fingers in his hair pull him short, however, and Eames whimpers slightly even as the resistance sends a thrill through him.

"Don't come," Arthur says, and Eames loves his voice like this: rough, scratchy, maddeningly deep. "You have to eat me out and fuck me."

Eames nods dumbly and stumbles to his feet as Arthur stands and leads him to the bedroom. Once there, Arthur releases Eames' hand and strips, settling face-down on the bed.

Eames doesn't bother taking off his clothes, simply swipes his hand across his mouth and climbs onto the bed behind Arthur, bending over to lick from Arthur's bollocks to his tailbone. Arthur shudders and spreads his legs, allowing Eames more room to trace around his tight pink pucker.

"Oh fuck," Arthur breathes as Eames runs the tip of his tongue in circles on the very edge of his hole. Arthur's not particularly vocal when it comes to receiving blowjobs, but something about having his arse played with never fails to unleash the most incredible sounds. The broad of Eames' tongue leads to heavy breaths, a puff of air across saliva-slicked flesh leads to an unsteady inhale, and when Eames holds both sides of Arthur's arse apart in order to flutter his tongue, a barely audible moan is the result.

The noises are addictive, really, which is why Eames pulls his mouth away from Arthur's arse long enough to grab the lube off the nightstand and slick his fingers, easing his index in and crooking it in order to hear Arthur gasp. His every stroke is rewarded with a breathy moan which grows louder when he increases to two fingers and wraps his free hand around Arthur's bollocks.

Eames drapes himself over Arthur's body and nuzzles the back of Arthur's ear, feeling daring, wild. "May I fuck you after you come on a vibrator?"

"Yeah," Arthur says, sounding dreamy and raw. "And I want your mouth on my dick when I come."

Eames licks his lips as he fishes Arthur's favorite vibrator off of the nightstand and slicks it up. Arthur rolls over, eyes heavy-lidded, cock thick and flushed. Eames wants to put his mouth on it immediately, wants to feel Arthur thrust up, stuff his throat full at a new angle, but he can be patient.

The vibrator goes in smoothly and Arthur exhales as he rests his feet on Eames's shoulders, propped against his neck where he knows Eames likes them. Eames gives Arthur a moment to adjust before flipping the toy on to the highest setting, watching in awe as Arthur arches off the bed with a shout.

"Oh my god, Eames," Arthur chokes, fingers tangling with the sheets, toes curling and lower body quivering. "That's—I—I--"

Arthur's words dissolve into incoherent moans, twisting in time with the buzzing of the vibrator. After a few minutes of watching Arthur struggle to hold himself back from coming, cock leaking almost continuously across his flat belly, Eames takes pity on him and presses his hips down to the bed. It takes some effort to keep Arthur still enough for Eames to slide his mouth down around Arthur's cock. But the instant he begins to suck, Arthur is gone, hips shooting up to buck against Eames' face wildly.

Eames hangs on gamely, swallowing Arthur's come. Arthur is using Eames' mouth purely for his own pleasure, almost bruising, and Eames loves it, revels in the way he feels and sounds, overwhelmed and uncontrolled and absolutely perfect.

Once Arthur's jerks have died down to weak twitches, Eames switches off the vibrator and eases away from Arthur's cock. Arthur lies supine on the bed, sweaty and exhausted.

"Come here," Arthur says, hooking Eames' sides with his heels and pulling him forward. "Are you gonna come?"

Eames squeezes the base of his cock through his trousers, which are soaked through with sweat and god knows what else. "I'm close."

"Let me." Arthur knocks Eames' hand away from his crotch and sits up. "I wanna—"

"Arthur," Eames says, half-warning and half-pleading as he wriggles out of his clothing. "I won't last if you—"

"'m not gonna make you come, I promise," Arthur mumbles, moving determinedly down Eames' body. "I just—I just want a taste. A little taste."

"Darling," Eames says, squeezing his eyes shut because he can barely look at Arthur without coming, much less watch him worship his cock.

Eames can feel Arthur's breath against his skin, can practically see the rapturous expression on his face. "You smell so fucking good like this. I love it when you're this close. You taste…" Arthur laps at the head of Eames' cock once, twice, and Eames has to push him back before he reaches a third.

"That's enough," Eames says, voice practically a growl. 

"Do it hard," Arthur says as slicks a condom on, climbs on top of Eames, and sinks down.

"Fuck," Eames says, the hot clutch of Arthur around him overwhelming. He's dimly aware of his hips moving of their own volition, unable to focus his attention on anything except how tight Arthur's arse is, how it feels to fuck into it with Arthur whispering, harder, harder, and then it hits. It hits and it's good, it's fucking great, it's bloody amazing.

Eames opens his eyes sluggishly, becomes aware of the fact that Arthur is heavy on his thighs and they're both drenched in sweat.

"Hey, baby," Arthur murmurs into Eames' ear, raspy and content. "You back with me?"

Eames releases his death-grip on Arthur's arse and yawns. "For a few moments, at least."

Arthur slips off Eames' lap and lies back, yawning as well. "Come here."

"We're both too hot," Eames says, the way he curls up into Arthur's shoulder contradicting his words.

"Deal with it in the morning," Arthur slurs, rather nonsensically. Eames opens his mouth to reply, but drifts off to sleep instead.

* * * * * *

Eames wakes to the sound of running water and teeth being brushed. He squints at an unfamiliar window, disoriented, before realizing that he's in a hotel room. In the background, Arthur gargles and spits into the sink. Then yesterday evening's fantastic activities come back to him.

"Morning," Arthur says when Eames rolls over to meet his eyes in the mirror. "Sleep well?"

"A bomb could have gone off and I wouldn't have woken up," Eames replies, and notes the pleased expression on Arthur's face. "But you knew that already."

Arthur puts down his toothbrush and pats his face dry with a towel. "Glad to hear it was good for you, too."

"Well, it was what I—I mean, I did…" Eames trails off as he feels his ears burn, words failing him once more.

"I know it took a lot for you to say what you did, baby, and I appreciate it." Arthur's voice is gentle, and he's wearing a pair of boxer-briefs with the slogan 'Eamester 4 Life' emblazoned across his shapely arse. It's impossibly, utterly endearing. "Plus, I really enjoyed it."

"Yeah?" Eames asks, more tentatively than he would like.

"Yeah." Arthur makes his way to the bed. He sits down beside Eames and touches his hair. "You felt good inside me."

"Arthur," Eames says, reddening further. "I mean, thank you. You always, ah. You feel good as well. When you."

"I love how shy you still get," Arthur says, and then adds softly, "I love you."

"I know," Eames replies. He's spoken of 'love' too many times with too many people to trust himself with the words completely, but this is Arthur. Arthur, who insists on paying for meals more than half the time, who refuses expensive gifts, who doesn't listen to music and is probably one of Eames' biggest fans anyway. "You make me very happy. I wish I was more—I wish the words were easier."

"It's okay." Arthur leans down to kiss Eames once more. "There's no rush. We'll get there."

fin


End file.
